


and with the sea i did abide

by ProfessorESP



Category: Naruto
Genre: Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Style, Gen, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, ft the Sannin and a very grumpy kyuubi, stealth headcanons, wip title: at least this time the fairy tale motifs are japanese
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-14 22:53:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8032177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorESP/pseuds/ProfessorESP
Summary: "Tell me a story? Please? The one about the girl with the long, red hair!""Hm. I don't know if I remember that one.""Come on, please? No one else will tell it to me!""They won't, huh? Alright, I'll give it a try. I think it went something like this..."





	and with the sea i did abide

Long ago in the Land of Whirlpools, there lived a princess with long, red hair that trailed behind her like a samurai’s banner. She was said to be the most beautiful woman in the world, and many warriors and princes traveled to ask for her hand in marriage. They quickly learned that though the princess was very beautiful, she was also very proud, and very strong. Those who were not chased away by her sharp tongue were thrown out with her powerful fists. 

Though the princess was strong, her country was small, and when the king of a powerful nation in the mountains came to her castle with an army at his back, she was forced to agree to marry him. Still, the princess had her pride, and the night before her wedding she pulled a small knife from her dresser and stood before her window. She took her hair in one hand, and her knife in the other, watching the furious waves crash against the cliffs underneath the castle.

“See if he desires me still without my red hair to wave as his prize,” she said, and cut it off. She threw her hair out the window and watched it fall past the cliffs and into the sea. “I would rather give it to the god of sea and storms than to a fool who thinks he can break me.”

No sooner had she spoken than a huge, white wave crashed against the cliffs, spraying seawater high into the air. From out of the crest of the wave flew a man; he was dressed in white clouds and pale sea foam, and in his hands he held the strands of red hair that the princess had thrown away. If she was startled or afraid, she did not show it, instead standing still and proud as he flew up to her window.

“If you would have me,” said the god of sea and storms, “I would gladly take you for my wife. Any woman whose will burns as strong as yours is wasted with a selfish, shortsighted man.”

“Even if I wished to marry you,” the princess said, “I cannot deny the king of the mountains while his army holds my country.”

“Do not fear,” he said. He ran his hand through her hair, pulling down and down and down until it had grown back to its former length. Then he took the hair she had thrown into the sea and twisted it into a long, thin hairpin, as red as blood and smooth as ivory. He reached a hand to the sky and pulled a three-pronged lightning bolt from the clouds to hang on the end of the hairpin. “If you truly wish to take me as your husband, wear this in your hair tomorrow. When the time comes, throw it at the feet of your betrothed. I will handle the rest.”

The god of sea and storms wrapped some of her hair into a loose bun. He pinned it up with his hairpin, and smiled at her before dissolving into the wet night. The princess stayed up a while longer to think, but when the moon began to sink below the horizon she placed the hairpin on her dresser and slept fitfully. 

The next morning her attendants dressed her in the traditional bridal kimono, brilliant white layered over scarlet red. They fussed over her hair, trying to style it to fit underneath the bridal hat, until the princess lost her patience and shooed them all away. She took the hairpin the god of sea and storms had given her and formed a small, simple bun at the crown of her head, leaving the rest of her hair to flow down her back, nearly reaching the edge of her kimono. 

When she entered the temple, the king was already there waiting for her. If she hadn’t already hated him, the smug look on his face would have made her despise him instantly. 

She stood silently as the priest purified the shrine. When the first cup of sake was offered, the king drank from it first, then offered it to the princess. Instead of drinking from it, as she was expected to do, she pulled free her hairpin, letting the rest of her hair fall. She threw down the hairpin, embedding it deep in the wood between the king’s feet. 

A bright flash of lightning lit up the temple, and thunder rolled quickly on its heels. The god of sea and storms appeared in a whirl of hot and cold winds. He raised a hand, and with one gesture--

_ No, no, that wasn’t right.  _

Long ago in the land of fire, there lived two girls who were the best of friends. The first had hair like the setting sun, and a smile that shone with bright cheer, so she was known as Sun-Red. The second had a face as pale and calm as the full moon, and hair as dark as the space between stars, so she was known as Moon-Black. They went everywhere together, and people often joked that they followed each other as if they were day and night, always one behind the other.

Moon-Black was a solemn girl, quieter and more easily hurt than most, so Sun-Red always tried her hardest to make her smile. She played tricks on their friends, and a few of their enemies, parading them under Moon-Black’s window until she was able to laugh again. 

Then one day, Sun-Red was nowhere to be found. The streets were empty of her laughter, the markets were free of her loud shouting, and Moon-Black walked through the village, not led or followed by a streak of long, red hair. People began to worry and gossip; for while Sun-Red was a mischievous girl, and quite the nuisance, she was well loved. 

The people of the village whispered amongst themselves, spreading news by word of mouth. Sun-Red’s family, which was as large and numerous as the stars in the sky, had been killed in the war. Even her seven sisters, all powerful warriors unto themselves, had fallen to their enemy’s swords. Sun-Red was truly alone in the world. 

When Moon-Black heard she rushed to her friend’s side, but Sun-Red refused to see her. In fact, she refused to see anyone at all. Her house stood dark and empty for days and days, and everyone  who brought food for her, as was custom for friends and neighbors of the grieving, was turned away. 

As the days passed, Moon-Black grew more and more worried. Grief was a natural emotion, and a necessary one, but Sun-Red’s insistence on shutting out the rest of the world was unhealthy. Moon-Black knew she had to do something to help Sun-Red, but she was at a loss as to what. 

First she took to standing outside Sun-Red’s house and singing as loud and as long as she could. She sang all the songs she knew: love songs, marching songs, religious songs, even the dirty drinking songs she and Sun-Red had learned together by sneaking into bars. She sang from dawn to dusk, but Sun-Red never appeared by the window, and eventually the neighbors appeared and chased Moon-Black off the street and back to her own home. 

The next day, Moon-Black sat underneath Sun-Red’s window and told all sorts of stories--some about her day, others that she’d read in books, a few that she’d heard from their friends--but she always stopped right before the ending, choosing instead to start a new story. She sat and told her half-stories for hours and hours, but there wasn’t a single hint of motion inside the house.

On the third day, Moon-Black knew that she had to take drastic measures. She thought for a long time, and remembered how, on the day of her cousin’s death, Sun-Red had appeared underneath her window with a parade of all their friends, goading them all into doing embarrassing and outlandish tricks.

So Moon-Black ran through the village, grabbing her friends and herding them towards Sun-Red’s house. She led them like a ringmaster, commanding them to perform tricks: one rolled through the street like a runaway sake barrel; another had her dog walk on its hind legs like a person; a third told riddles and tongue twisters, forcing everyone who failed to do handstands.

Despite their efforts, no matter how closely they watched or listened, no one saw or heard anything from inside the house. Moon-Black was almost ready to give up, but then one of her friends spoke up over the crowd.

“Oh graceful and beautiful Moon-Black,” he said, “will you not bless us all with a dance?”

Their friends all cheered in agreement, their eyes sparkling with laughter, for Moon-Black was well known to be the worst dancer in the whole village. She feigned embarrassment, then gave in to their pleading with a smile. Someone found a box for her to stand on, and fans for her to hold as she danced, and as she got into position the whole crowd launched into the bawdiest drinking song they knew. 

Moon-Black bit her lip to keep from laughing as her friends clapped out a rhythm. They drew out the notes at the end of the chorus, and she stood frozen in place for as long as they held the notes. By the time they launched into the second verse, she was wobbling with effort to stay balanced. She turned with the beat, but her feet moved a little too quickly. One of her fans went flying over the heads of the crowd as she pinwheeled desperately in an attempt to keep her balance. She dropped the other fan, and it bounced off the crown of someone’s head. Moon-Black managed to pull herself back onto both feet, but she almost fell off again when she caught a glimpse of motion in Sun-Red’s window. The noise of the crowd faded , and from inside the house she could hear--

_ No, that wasn’t right either. _

Long ago where a great river met the sea, there lived an old widow with no family left in this world. Her home village had been destroyed many years ago, and her husband and both her sons had died soon after. In her heart she longed for a young daughter to dote on, but she knew better than to hope for a child in her old age. 

One day, while drawing water from the river, she saw a small, red fruit bobbing in the water. She waded out into the current to grab it, and found with some surprise that it was not a tomato as she expected, but a red habanero pepper. 

“Well,” she said to herself, “if I save the seeds after dinner and plant them in my garden, I shall have as many peppers as I can eat, and then some!” So she pocketed the fruit and headed home. 

The old widow set about making dinner, but when she cut open the pepper she found a tiny girl, no more than three or four inches tall. The girl blinked up and scowled, the very image of a child ready to take on the world. The old widow fell in love with her instantly.

Every day, the little girl grew more and more, until she was a loud, healthy child who trailed a flag of red hair behind her wherever she went. She never spoke when she could shout, or walked when she could run, or surrendered when she could still fight. The old widow called her Habanero, both for the fruit she was born from and for her stubbornness and temper. 

When Habanero was just entering the last years of childhood, the old widow fell very ill. She knew she would not survive, so she called Habanero to her bedside and told her of a land far from where the rivers emptied into the sea.

“In the eastern woodlands,” she said, “there lives a nine-tailed fox, as large as a mountain and more powerful than an army of men. In my youth I bound its spirit to the tallest tree in the forest, as my mother had done before me, and her mother before her. I shall die soon, and when I pass from this world the bonds will weaken, and it will escape. You must not allow this to happen. Go to the eastern woods and carry out the duty of the women of my family.”

Habanero cried bitterly and pled to stay by her side, but the old widow insisted, and so Habanero relented and set out to find the nine-tailed fox. To journey from the ocean all the way to the wooded mountains was a long journey, but Habanero was not afraid. She set out all on her own, determined not to look back. Hours later, when the hot noon sun beat down on her head, she was less certain she had made the right decision. 

She stopped to rest at last by the edge of a small pond, and as she grew closer she came across a most peculiar sight. On a large rock at the edge of the pond, a toad, a slug, and a snake stood in a small circle, all three of them shouting at each other. The toad caught sight of Habanero and called her over to them.

“Good stranger,” it said, “help settle a bet. We’re trying to find out which one of us is the strongest. I am certain it is myself, but my friend the slug is certain they are the strongest of us, and so is my friend the snake. We have all sworn to serve the one who proves themselves to truly be the strongest. Would you be willing to judge us?”

“I would,” Habanero said, and so she stood back and watched as they fought each other. They fought each other one at a time, the toad beating the slug, the slug beating the snake, and the snake beating the toad.

“I can see why this is a difficult choice, but I think I know who wins this bet,” she said. Then she reached down and overturned the rock, sending all three of the animals into the pond. “None of you can match my strength, and that makes me the winner!”

The snake and the slug were angry with her, but before they could yell at her, the frog burst into laughter. The slug soon joined in, and eventually even the snake laughed along. All three of them swore to serve as her retainers. She told them of her journey, and of the nine-tailed fox, and the task given to her by the old widow.

“That’s a fair distance,” the toad said. “It’ll take weeks to just go by foot. Hop on my back and I’ll get you there as quick as can be.”

She climbed onto the toad’s back, the slug and the snake perched on each of her shoulders, and he took off. Each of its leaps had them flying so high over the treetops that Habanero could see the horizon. After a short time, she could see the tree that the nine-tailed fox was bound to; it towered high over the rest of the trees in the forest and made the canopy look like shrubland.

The toad landed a little ways away and climbed onto her back as they walked towards the great tree. The nine-tailed fox was tied to its trunk with golden chains as thin as her fingers. The chains had gone loose, and every time the fox threw itself against them they grew looser and looser. The fox snapped and snarled and called them names, but she ignored it and pulled the slug and the snake from her shoulders.

“Do you know how to strengthen its chains?” she asked.

“I do,” the slug said, “but I can’t do it while it’s thrashing around like that.”

“I can hold it still,” the snake said, and so Habanero set them both on the ground. 

The snake coiled itself around the tree, carefully avoiding the golden chains. The fox tried to tear at the snake with its claws, but the toad jumped up and hit it in the face with its tongue whenever it tried. The slug slithered along the path of the golden chains, and one by one every link--

_ No, no, no. That wasn’t right at all. _

In a village hidden deep within the forest, there lived a little boy whose mother was a fox.


End file.
